Nighttime Secrets
by blame it on the government
Summary: Ponyboy's night terrors have returned, and, little does he know, his world is about to turn upside down. Things he thought he could count have disappeared. He now has to face things he thought he'd never have to experience. How can Pony grieve, leave a bad situation, and learn to trust again after being so horribly betrayed?
1. Chapter 1

Hey Guys! This is just a brief author's note. I've gotten several reviews and private messages imploring me to put a warning at beginning of this story to warn my readers of my story's mature and disturbing content. This is a story about how Ponyboy is being sexually abused at home and how he overcomes his situation. What really disturbs me, however, is that I penned a rather long and popular story a few years ago about the sexual abuse of a made up Curtis sister. I did not receive one angry review or message asking for a warning or saying that the story was too mature for the readers. The content of The Requiem of Amelia Curtis was about as graphic as the content thus far in Nighttime Secrets. I want to know why, readers, the rape of a female child is less disturbing than that of a male child. I do not feel like I am glorifying the sexual abuse. It's a terrible and awful subject, and I chose to write about it because I feel like it's important. If you guys have any comments or questions, please feel free to message me or review this chapter.

Thank You,

Blame it on the government


	2. Chapter 2

Ponyboy walked into his first period English class. He always sat in the middle seat, two rows from the back and two rows from the front. This was the most inconspicuous seat. If he sat in the back, the teacher would assume that he was a no-good student and call on him all the time for no reason other than to embarrass him when he didn't know the answer to the question being posed. If he sat in the front, the other students would throw spit balls at his head and call him teacher's pet in the hallways. Pony didn't need any of these things in life; it was hard enough as it was.

But he had arrived to class a little later than usual. It was his habit to get to class after the warning bell sounded, but before the tardy bell rang. If he got there too late, the teacher would think he was a punk and might find reasons to punish him even if he did arrive to class before he was technically late. If he got there too early, the other kids would assume he was a kiss ass and give him shit about it. But today, he made it to school late, and he missed that perfect balance between hoodlum and suck up. In fact, he had arrived to school so late, he had to go to the office and get a pass. Already, the teacher was deep into her lecture on King Leer. She absently took the pass from Pony, not breaking her flow as she read a brief excerpt from the book.

At the moment, Pony couldn't care less about Shakespeare or any of his many plays. Instead, he was staring down the girl sitting in his usual seat. Pony didn't recognize her. Usually, he would be curious about this stranger. But today he was only agitated. The seat to her right was unoccupied, so he bit back his emotions and considered the inferior desk. The middle of English class was hardly the place for a confrontation, anyway.

Pony wanted to walk to the desk, but he was stiff and sore: his neck, his wrists, but mostly his backside. Track season just started and he had just begun to train hard.

That's why, Pony thought to himself as he willed himself to move. I've just been training too hard, he thought as he maneuvered through the aisle down to his seat for the day. But then when he went sit down, the pain intensified and threatened to overwhelm him. He stood up as if his seat were made of fire and let out a slight whimper.

"Are you all right, Ponyboy?" Mrs. Finnel asked.

"Yes ma'am," Pony muttered back, his face an absolute scarlet.

"I'm glad to hear it. And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't interrupt class anymore. First you came into class late. Now you are pulling these shenanigans. Please take your seat."

"Yes ma'am," Pony repeated, his head bent in shame. He again lowered himself down into his seat, the pain permeating from his backside up his spine, down his thighs, into his body. He didn't react this time. Of course he was simply overreacting. One didn't get in this much pain from running too much.

Pony was exhausted. Between the sleepiness obscuring his vision and the pain still coming in waves, he absolutely couldn't concentrate. The past few months had been tough. Soda had gotten a second job, a night job at a transfer station by the railways. It paid well, but the poor guy was constantly sleep derived. Because the job was at night, it often left Pony alone at night. The night terrors had returned in his favorite brother's absence.

Last night, Pony had had a night terror.

"Don't think about last night," an angry voice sounded in Pony's head.

But he couldn't help it.

Last night, all he remembered was waking up in Darry's arms.

"Shhh, little buddy," Darry had whispered into Pony's ear. "It was just a dream."

At that time, Pony became aware of a raspy throat and wet cheeks where tears had moistened them.

"What happened?" Pony asked.

"You just started screamin' and hollerin'," Darry replied.

"Like I used to? Like back when mom and dad first…" Pony trailed off, but Darry knew what he meant.

"Yeah. Just like that."

And Pony didn't know what happened next, but Darry's hands just started sliding up and down his back, every time going just a little lower.

**Author's Note: Hey Guys! The Outsiders has always been my favorite book. There really is nothing like using writing as an outlet when you're going through tough times. I've been writing in the Outsiders fandom since the age of eleven. I'll be twenty next month. Here's to old habits dying hard!**


	3. Chapter 3

"Ponyboy Curtis!"

A shrill voice sounded through the classroom, waking Pony from the nightmare he had been reliving from the night before.

"Ponyboy, I have been calling on you for the last five minutes to answer my question and you have been sitting there looking off into space like a bum. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Mrs. Finnel stood at the front of class with her hands on her hips. She had her brown hair tied into a bun so tight that it stretched her face taut, her eyes almost almond shaped from the strain. On this day, she wore a cream colored turtle neck and an ankle-length tartan skirt. She wasn't that old, but between her matronly bosom and the frown lines starting burgeon around her jowls, she seemed at least a dozen years older than her actual age would suggest.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Finnel," Pony began, but before he could say anything more, the bell rang.

"Class is dismissed," Mrs. Finnel announced in exasperation. "Except for you, Mr. Curtis. I'd like to have a word with you."

Pony tried to stifle his groan, but it leapt from his mouth as if the rogue noise had a mind of its own. He honestly didn't mean to, but his tired, achy body had to expel some of its woe.

"Don't get cheeky on me, boy," Mrs. Finnel warned. "You've got a world of hurt coming to you already."

Mrs. Finnel had chosen Pony as her least favorite student from the start of the year. After all what had happened last year, many teachers had come to fear Ponyboy. They saw him as a dangerous hood. At the beginning of the school year, many teachers had greeted the boy with trepidation, hesitating slightly when they read his name from the roll. But every one of them had come to know and love the boy, realizing that he really wasn't a threat to the classroom. If anything, his quiet demeanor and intelligence made him an asset to the learning environment. Every teacher, that is, save Mrs. Finnel. Unlike the other teachers, Mrs. Finnel had a serious beef with Pony. Bob had been one of her favorite students, and she held Pony responsible for his death.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Finnel," Pony replied earnestly, his voice sheepish. "I didn't get much sleep last night and I'm really tired today."

"You were probably out philandering. Drinking. Smoking. Doing other unspeakable things. Don't act all innocent. You don't deserve to be in a school with innocent children. You deserve to be locked up, you hoodlum, you rat." Mrs. Finnel nearly spat at the end out of vehemence, passion and disgust.

Pony, realized that he was fighting a losing battle, resigned himself to staring at a place at the floor, wishing that he would die, that Mrs. Finnel would die.

"What? You aren't even going to explain yourself?" Mrs. Finnel cried. "Despicable. Simply despicable. I can't believe we let your kind into public schools, much less honors classes. I bet you aren't even literate, you leech."

Pony's ears burnt bright red as his teacher continued her harangue. If there was one thing he could always pride himself on, it was his brain. Sure, last year, he hadn't ended very well. But this year, his grades were starting to really improve. He had As in all of his classes save English. Mrs. Finnel had it out for him. It didn't matter how well he did on an assignment, she always failed him. And he couldn't contest her. If he went up and asked why she had graded him so low on his essay, she would find something. He got off topic. His argument was invalid. English was such a subjective subject to grade, anyway. So Pony had a C in Mrs. Finnel's class, and after today, he was sure he wouldn't make it out of her classroom alive.

"M-my older brother, Soda, just got a new job at the transfer station," Pony said softly, trying to offer an explanation. "Usually, he sleeps in my room. But his new job makes him work at night. And the bad dreams have come back, the same ones I used to have right when mom and dad died."

From the stress of the situation, his exhaustion, and physical pain, Pony actually cried at the end of his spiel. He didn't mean to, but once the corners of his eyes were wetted, he couldn't contain it. The tears spilled over his cheeks and dripped off his jaw and onto the floor. His stomach heaved, and he fell to his knees, his arms covering his face in an unsuccessful attempt to stifle his sobs.

As Pony fell to the floor, so many emotions came with it. He grieved again for the loss of his parents, for the events that had transpired the previous year, for the time he didn't get to spend any more with his favorite brother, and for the events that happened last night.

That angry voice in the back of Pony's head returned. "Don't think about last night," it screamed at him. But he couldn't help it. It all came rushing back to him.

The way he had woken up in Darry's arms, that hot breath in his ear promising that it would all be all right. And those hands, which had been comforting at first, and the confusing. They started rubbing his back in a very soothing way and then in a very confusing way.

Before Pony knew it, Darry had begun to caress his rear end.

"Darry?" Pony had asked, his voice still thick with the tears he had cried in his sleep.

"It's ok, Little Buddy," Darry whispered in his ear as his hands slid Pony's underwear off. "It's all going to be all right."

Before Pony could say anything else, Darry had pushed Pony's head down on the mattress with one hand, the other hand clutching both wrists in a tight fist. All of a sudden, there was something in Pony, and it didn't matter how much he wriggled; all of his screams were muffled into the mattress.

When he was done, Darry wiped him off his hand, helped him back into underwear, and covered him with blankets.

"I love you, Pony," Darry whispered as he left the room. "Get some sleep."

Pony had laid awake all night, trying to piece together what had happened. Maybe it was a dream. It was the middle of the night and he was sleepy and disoriented at the time. Maybe… maybe… He didn't know. He just sobbed and sobbed in the floor of Mrs. Finnel's classroom.

"Ponyboy?" Mrs. Finnel asked. "Come on, now. You're embarrassing yourself. The next class will begin soon." But her tone had softened. Some students early for second period had already started to wander in, but Mrs. Finnel shooed them out and shut the door.

"I'm sorry, Pony," Mrs. Finnel said, bending down to the still-sobbing boy. "I forget about all of the terrible things you've had to go through. It's just Bob was very dear to me. He was on the debate team, and you know that I coach debate, right? He was just the best and brightest on the team. He was impassioned and intelligent, and I feel like it was an awful shame to lose him. I know you didn't kill him; it was that other kid. And I know that Bob instigated a fight. If anything…" Mrs. Finnel paused for a moment and sniffed back a tear of her own. "If anything, Bob had it coming to him. If your friend hadn't killed him, then Bob would have killed your friend."

Pony wished he had words to spare on this suddenly compassionate teacher, but he couldn't. Now that he was crying, he simply couldn't stop, the sobs coming harder and stronger than ever.

"Pony, dear," Mrs. Finnel started, her voice soft and comforting. "What is it? Do you need anything from me?"

In response, Pony's stomach suddenly turned, and he emptied his brief contents on the floor of Mrs. Finnel's classroom.

"I'm so sorry," Pony cried, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "I'll clean it up, I promise."

"No, no," Mrs. Finnel said. "I got it. Do you need anything?"

"Can you write me a pass to the nurse's office?" His sobs were beginning to lessen, only slight hiccups escaping his mouth of sporadic intervals.

"Of course, dear."

Mrs. Finnel walked away from Pony and his pool of sick to her desk. She found a piece of paper on her desk, scribbled something on it, and brought it back to the poor boy.

"Thank you, Mrs. Finnel," Pony hiccupped as he tried to pry himself off the floor. He was still very sore, but after only a little hesitation, he was able to make it. As he walked to the door, Mrs. Finnel called after him.

"Pony?" She asked softly. "I think you're a good a kid. I'm sorry for giving you so many bad grades and for being so tough on you. You're very bright, and you deserve better."

"Thank you, Mrs. Finnel." Pony gave her a brief smile before limping out into the hallway. The tardy bell for second period had already sounded, and Mrs. Finnel's second period English class had congregated into the hallway. The group filed into the classroom as Pony made his way out.

The hallways were vacant save the lone student scurrying along, hoping to make it to class before there were too many bad repercussions. Pony could either just leave and go home without going to the nurse's office. But if he did, surely Darry would receive a call from the school telling him of his younger brother's absence from class. But if he went to the nurse sore and exhausted and smelling of vomit, surely he'd be excused from the rest of the day.

In the nurse's office, he handed the nurse Mrs. Finnel's note.

"Hi there, Pony," Mrs. Peters smiled at him. "You don't look so hot today. What seems to be the problem?"

"I threw up in Mrs. Finnel's classroom," Pony muttered. "My stomach really hurts. I think I might have a stomach bug."

"Well, that's no good. Should I call your older brother and get him to come get you?"

"Yes ma'am," Pony muttered. "Can you call Soda? He'll be on his lunch break anyway."

"Of course, dear. Just lay down and he'll be here soon."

Pony found his way to one of the cots set up and lay down. He closed his eyes, and, before he knew it, Soda was shaking him awake.

"Hey, Pony. Mrs. Peters called me and told me you wasn't feeling to good."

"Yeah, Soda," Pony yawned as he sat up. "I'm really tired and my stomach doesn't feel too good."

"Let's get you home." Soda's voice had a touch of concern it in as he helped his little brother off the cot and into an upright position. They walked silently to Soda's truck parked out front.

"Darry's been telling me you started havin bad dreams again," Soda said conversationally as they climbed into his truck.

"Yeah. Just on nights when you're working."

Soda was quiet for a moment as he put his key into the ignition, put the truck into gear, and began to drive away from the school.

"I guess I gotta quit my job then," Soda said with a sigh as he stopped at a stop sign, looked both ways, and started to drive again.

Pony was relieved to hear his brother say that, but he shook his head immediately.

"You can't, Soda. We need the money."

"Not that bad. We can get by without me workin two jobs." But Soda's voice hesitated slightly.

"Are you sure?"

"We can talk about it with Darry tonight. See what he says."

Pony nodded his head solemnly. How could he tell Soda about what had transpired the night before?


	4. Chapter 4

Groggily, Pony could hear to voices drifting into his room from the living room.

"I had to pick Pony up early from school today."

"Did he get in trouble?"

"Naw. Poor kid. He was sicker than a dog. Looked terrible. Threw up all over his English class, 'parently."

"Yeah. He didn't sleep too good last night. He had one of his dreams again."

"Darry, do ya think I should quit my job at the transfer station?"

There was a pause in conversation, a pregnant silence swelling so thick and palpable, it slipped under the door of Pony's bedroom and wrapped him in a thick embrace of foggy awkwardness.

"I dunno, Little Buddy." Darry's voice was soft and husky. "I don't wanna to overwork you and I don't want Pony to get sick again. But, I'm not sure what we'll do without the money."

"Is it that bad, Darry?" Soda's voice sounded high and earnest and young as if it came from a boy half his age.

"Yeah, Soda. We could lose the house if we ain't careful. But you go ahead and quit your second job. I'll just get a third one and never sleep. How about that?" His voice sounded angry and bitter and Soda reacted immediately.

"I'm sorry, Darry. I didn't mean nothing. I just want to make sure Pony's all right, that's all. He hasn't been himself lately, all spacey and sick. Especially today. He acted really weird when I got him home from school."

"What did he say?" Darry barked defensively.

"Nothin. He was just all sore and couldn't walk right. I hope he's not getting bad sick, like when he ended up in the hospital that night."

"Well, we'll just have to keep an eye on him. But it won't do him any good if he don't have a home to come home to. You got it, Soda?"

"Yeah, Darry. I gotcha."

"Good. Now how about I make us some dinner? You think Pony's feeling better? I could make us some chicken soup."

"I'll go check on him. He's been sleeping an awful long time anyway."

A few moments later, Pony heard the soft footsteps of Soda's stocking feet approaching his bedroom and the door quietly opening.

"Hey, Pony," Soda whispered as he tiptoed over to the bed. Pony was turned away from him, his back exposed and vulnerable. Soda reached out a hand and gently touched his younger brother. The latter flinched as he felt his older brother's finger brush his skin.

"You feeling ok?" Soda asked as he sat down next to Pony on the bed.

"Yeah." Pony finally found the strength to speak. "I'm just a little tired."

"If your stomach can handle it, Darry's making soup."

"I'll come out in a minute," Pony sighed. "Just lemme wake up."

"Yeah. No problem."

Pony waited until he heard his bedroom door open and then close before sitting up on his bed. He tried to think, tried to get the sleep out of his brain to form a tangible thought. His mind traveled to school. He had missed nearly a full day of it. But that was all right. He didn't have a test or anything important due. But next week, he had an essay due in English and a report over the Ottoman Empire due in his history class. And, on top of that, he had a pre-calculus exam. The burdens weighed on top of him, and he didn't feel compelled at all to get out of bed and start the writing and studying and reading he so desperately needed to do. Maybe he should go on a run. Track season had just started, and he couldn't take a whole day off from training. What if his muscles went soft? What if he lost his touch? But the soreness radiating from his backside made him disinclined to even sit up, much less put on his running shoes and sweats and brave the cool air outside.

So he simply lay in his bed and tried to think about everything, anything in the world save what had happened last night. But as much as he tried to suppress it, it all came back to him, every foggy detail, how it felt, the pressure, the pain. But it could all just been a terrible, demented dream. It happened in the middle of the night, he was having the dreams again, those terrible, screaming fits in the middle of the night. Maybe this was just the first time he remembered them. Yes. That was it. He was finally remembering his dreams.

His heart feeling a little better, he got out of bed and threw a sweater over his head, walking out of his room down the hallway to the kitchen. Darry was in there, dicing celery and carrot and throwing them into a boiling pot.

"Hey there," Darry greeted. "How're you feelin?"

"I'm feeling better," Pony sleepily yawned as he got a cup down from the cupboard and filled it with water from the tap. "I think I just had a stomach bug or something. I'm feeling tons better now."

"Good," Darry muttered, stirring the pot and adding some dried herbs from the spice cabinet.

"Yeah. And I think I was a bit tired from last night, too."

At those words, Darry froze, turning around with fire in his ice cold eyes.

"What about last night?" he growled.

"I just had a bad dream and it kept me up for a while. That's all." Pony took a nonchalant drink of his water as Darry turned back to the stove. "What were you thinking about, Darry?"

"Don't worry about it, Pony," Darry sighed, looking through the cabinet. "Do you want noodles or rice in the soup tonight?"

A little while later, the three Curtis brothers found themselves sitting around the table, quietly eating the hot soup and buttered pieces of Wonder bread. Soda was eating especially fast, shoveling the soup into his mouth so fast, that surely, it must have burnt his mouth. But he was expected at the transfer station in just a little over an hour, and he still had to dress in his warm clothes and get haul ass over there.

"It was delicious, Darry," Soda muttered with his mouth half filled with Wonder bread. He dumped his dirty bowl into the sink and disappeared into his room to get ready for the graveyard shift.

Darry and Pony took a bit longer to finish their suppers. By the time the soup in their bowls had evaporated, Soda came out wearing his pullover, his heavy work gloves clutched in one hand. He opened the ice box, grabbing one last swig of milk before calling out a farewell and heading towards the door.

Once Soda left, Pony became aware of a thick and heavy silence hanging heavy in the air. The two did the dishes and dried them, and only after they put them away and retired to the living room, did the stiffening silence become unbearable. The dream from the night before played over and over in his head like a ghastly and awful broken record. And he could not help it anymore; he had to share it with his eldest brother.

"Darry, last night when I had my bad dream, I remembered it for once." Pony looked down to his cuticles and tried not to look at Darry who had taken to his easy chair with the evening's paper.

Across the room, Pony watched Darry stiffen. In one terse and jerky motion, Darry folded the paper in a haphazard rectangle and crinkled it on his lap.

"And what was the dream about?" he asked with pursed lips.

"Well, um…" Pony hesitated, not sure where to begin. But he cleared his voice and continued after his false start. "In my dream last night, you came in my room and to try and comfort me. And you started doing something strange."

"And what did I do?" Darry's voice was low and dangerous, and Pony felt sure he would snap at any moment. But Pony continued on anyway.

"You gave me a hug to calm me down and then started touching me all over and taking my clothes off. And then you…" Pony drifted off, not able to continue on. His face turned a bright red and he found himself shaking. "It was so real, Darry. In fact, I'm not sure if it was a dream after all."

"What are you getting at, Ponyboy? You accusing me of something?"

"I dunno, Darry. All I know is that I woke up this morning awfully sore and that dream last night didn't feel like a dream at all."

"And what if it wasn't? Huh?" Darry stood up from his chair, slamming the paper down into the seat. "And who'd believe you if you told? Not Soda. Not Two-Bit. And all your teachers know me because they taught me when I was in high school."

Pony didn't know what to say. He felt confused and trapped. Suddenly, Darry changed his tone.

"Pony, you don't want to tell anyone anyway, right? If they did, they'd put you in a boy's home and you'd never see Soda again. You'd have to go to a different school and quit track and give up your chances for college. You don't want to change things. You don't know how good you have it here. And if you were in a boy's home, you don't know what kind of things would happen to you. You don't know how good you have it here."

At those last words, Pony thought of Johnny. He had been beaten every day at home. Darry never beat Pony. And he always had enough to eat and always had a person to advocate for him. Shoot, Darry had been up at the school every other day arguing with Mrs. Finnel about Pony's English grade.

"You're a good brother," Pony finally muttered. "You look out for me, keep my nose out of trouble."

"I love you, Pony," Darry beamed. "I thought I lost you once, and I never want that again. You're my baby brother, and there's no one that could ever replace you, not even Soda. I love Soda, too, but Soda's Soda and you're Pony."

Much to Pony's surprise, he looked up at Darry to see tears in his eyes.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Pony," Darry started to sob. "It won't happen again. I promise."

"All-all right," Pony gulped.

In response, Darry walked up to Pony and wrapped him in a giant bear hug. Pony, confused and not sure what do to, hugged back. The hug lasted longer than a normal hug would normally last, and when they finally broke apart, Darry turned to Pony.

"Got any homework due tonight?"

"Not for tonight. I have a bunch of stuff due for next week, though. I think I'm going to go for a run. I missed practice today."

"You sure? I don't want you to get sicker than you already are."

"Yeah. I'm feeling better."

"Ok, Little Buddy. Just don't work yourself too much."

With one last brotherly pat on the back, Darry sat back down and Pony went into his room to change into his sweats.

A quarter of an hour later, Ponyboy found himself running in the cool, autumn air. He ran in long strokes, ran as fast as he could. He wasn't sure what he was running from or who. It felt good to be in the air, felt refreshing to think that his own two feet could take him anywhere in the world. He wondered what he would do if he didn't go home that night. He couldn't go to Dally because he was dead. And he couldn't go back to the church in Windrixville because that had burnt down. He didn't have any friends he knew well enough that would welcome him into their homes without a good explanation. So he just ran, knowing that as long as his arms and legs pumped and pumped and pumped, he wouldn't have to go home.

He didn't know how long he had been running when he finally came to a stop, breathless and aching. Only after he had caught his breath did he realize his legs had taken him to the park where Johnny had killed Bob. The fountain had become a place for the local middle and elementary school kids to come. Rumor had it, a kid had been drowned in it and his ghost still haunted the park. Kids would dare each other to touch the fountain and ridicule those too afraid to do it.

Pony didn't feel fear at the sight of the fountain. Instead, his heart opened up and a profound sense of loneliness and loss overwhelmed him. If Johnny were here, he'd believe Pony. And he'd help him out as much as he could, even if it were only a clap on the back and a "that sucks, man."

In spite of himself, thick tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. Before he knew it, the floodgates had opened, and he hunched himself over at the corner of the fountain and sobbed and sobbed, letting great big howls escape his lips. He shivered in the cold air, rubbing his arms back and forth over the thin material of his sweatshirt.

"What's the matter? Your boyfriend break up with you?"

A voice came from behind Pony, and he froze. This was a soc coming to beat him up or a fellow greaser who just wanted his wallet. But the voice didn't sound like either. In fact, it sounded light and feminine and non-threatening. Slowly, he turned around.

The girl stood in the orange glow, clad in a pair of jeans and a ragged, old jean jacket. She had a cigarette hanging limply from the fingers of her right hand. She looked familiar, and Pony wracked his brain trying to place this mysterious girl.

"You're that guy from English class, right?" she asked, answering Pony's unasked question for him. "You looked pretty spooked when you came into today." She brought her cigarette up to her lips, sucked it delicately, and blew the smoke through her puckered lips. She wore red lipstick, and Pony got a shiver independent from the cold.

"Yeah," Pony shrugged. "You're that girl who was sitting in my seat."

"Your seat?" The girl looked confused and shook her head, her soft, delicate brown curls bouncing softly on her head. "The teacher said there were no assigned seats."

"There aren't. I just like that seat. I sit in it every day. It's comfortable."

"Ok, crazy." She rolled her eyes as she took another drag. Pony watched her more closely this time, watching as she brought that little white stick up her mouth.

"Whatcha doing out here so late, anyway?" She asked as she took one last drag on her cigarette and crushed it under her canvas sneaker.

"I went out for a run," Pony explained. "I'm on the track team."

"You went for a run at one in the morning? Damn. You must be pretty dedicated."

"Time got away from me," he shrugged. "What about you? What's your story?"

"I don't need one. Wanna smoke?" She reached into the pocket of her jean jacket and extracted a pack of camels.

"Thanks." Pony accepted the cigarette and a lighter the mysterious girl threw his way. "I'm Ponyboy, by the way."

"I'm Cassie."

The two shook hands.

"You new around here, Cassie?" Pony asked around drags.

"Yeah. Just finished moving the last box in last night, actually."

"And what brings you here to the marvelous Tulsa?" Ponyboy raised his arms and walked around in emphasis, showing of his recently acquired sarcastic nature.

"My mom got a new husband and we just finished moving in with him."

"And your folks don't mind you being out so late?"

"My stepfather works night. He ain't home right now to check up on me." Cassie shrugged, flicking her ashes into the wind.

"How about your mom, then? Doesn't she worry?"

Cassie's face turned dark. Even in the dark, Pony could see she had blue eyes. They weren't like Darry's blue eyes, hard and cold and unfeeling. Instead, they were incredibly deep and soft, like maybe a cornflower or periwinkle blue.

"My mom is sick." Cassie didn't elaborate and Pony was savvy enough not to ask. "What about your folks? Don't they worry about you?"

"My folks died in a car crash a couple of years ago." Pony tried shrugging to say that it wasn't a big deal, but Cassie's face became sympathetic, the darkness draining from it.

"I'm so sorry to hear that. Are you all on your own?"

"I have two older brothers. I live with them."

"That must be nice." Cassie gave Pony this soft, sideways smile and Pony smiled back.

"It ain't too bad. It could definitely be worse."


	5. Chapter 5

Ponyboy woke up with his arms around Cassie. She had her head rested on his chest, her knees tucked in close to her body. Pony liked how incredibly peaceful she looked, how her beautiful long eyelashes rested against her porcelain skin. Up close, he could see the faint freckles scattered along the bridge of her nose and top of her cheeks. In sleep, her slightly parted lips looked so full and beautiful, and Pony felt an urge to kiss them. He resisted the urge, settling on merely holding her closer.

They hadn't meant to spend the night together in the park; it had just happened. The two had been talking and talking, shooting the breeze about life. Cassie's father had passed away four years prior when she was only eleven. They had been pretty close, and his sudden and tragic death had left Cassie confused and alone. Her mother had just remarried and transplanted Cassie from her high school in Texas to Oklahoma.

"Do you like it here?" Pony had asked.

"I haven't been here too long," she had replied with a shrug. "But I guess it ain't too bad here. I didn't have a whole lot of friend back home, so it doesn't bother me much that I'm here."

"I like it here," Pony said after a long pause. "It's home and there ain't no place like it."

Eventually, they found themselves sitting underneath a tree. They hadn't discussed it; it had just happened. Tiredness had both overtaken them, and they found themselves lying down. Cassie had begun to shiver and shiver.

"Are you cold?" Pony asked.

"Just a bit," she admitted through her chattering teeth.

"Let me warm you up." In what he hoped was a chivalrous and gentlemanly thing to do, he opened his arms, an invitation for Cassie to cuddle up to him. She took the invitation, scooting closer to him, resting her cheek on Pony's chest as the latter wrapped his arms around her. They fell asleep like that.

Now, Pony had awoken. He wasn't sure quite time it was, but it was sometime during the early, early morning. He could see the telltale signs of dawn, a light glow coming from the east.

Somewhere in the distance, Pony could hear an engine being killed, a car door slamming, heavy footsteps upon concrete.

"Cassandra?" a voice called.

Next to him, Cassie started awake, sitting up, breaking away from her companion's embrace.

"Oh no," she muttered to herself. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

"What is it?" Pony asked, keeping his voice low.

"It's my stepfather, Roy. Shit, what time is it? He must have got off work and realized I wasn't home."

"Cassandra, you little slut, I can hear you," the angry, belligerent voice shouted.

In response to the shouting and heavy footsteps getting increasingly closer, Cassie began to shiver erratically, even more than she had been the night before from the cold. Pony noticed then, and put his arms around her again.

A second later, Roy emerged from behind a corner. He wore thick, steel-toed boots, a large, brown jacket, and a pair of stained blue jeans.

"You little slut," Roy swore again. "You were with a boy, you whore."

He approached Cassie, and with one swift motion, he grabbed for her. In response, Pony clutched her even closer, pulling the poor girl away from the angry, swatting hand.

"You! Boy!" Roy turned to Pony with contempt. "I don't know what you did to my daughter, but—."

"I ain't your daughter," Cassie spat.

"Well, I'm the closest thing you have to a father, so I guess that makes you my daughter whether you like it or not."

Catching them off guard, he went to grab Cassie again, succeeding this time. He dragged her off the ground, and, still holding her wrists in what looked like a painfully tight fashion, turned to Ponyboy.

"What's your name, boy?" he spat with vehemence.

"Tony Pearson," Pony replied automatically, not incredibly sure even as he said why he would tell such a lie.

"Well, Tony, if I see you with my daughter again, you can bet you'll be hurtin, you hear?"

"Yes sir," Pony muttered, watching helplessly as the man dragged Cassie away.

In just a few moments, he heard a couple of car doors opening and the slamming, an engine turning over, starting, the squeal of tires as the car peeled away.

For a moment, Pony didn't know what to do. He felt like he should have run after Cassie, ripped her from the hands of her stepfather. But the man had had four or five inches and at least fifty pounds on him. Pony wouldn't have stood a chance. In the East, the faint had grown in size and definition. Now, the sky's horizon had turned a glorious pink. In a few minutes, the sun would make peak out above the horizon.

Pony stood up, dusted some dead leaves from his clothes, and began the walk home. He figured he should wash up and get to class. Stiff and achy from sleeping on the ground, he felt surprisingly numb. He only briefly thought of Darry and what he would say when he walked in from being in all night.

When he got the house, he said a little prayer in his head before opening up the door and sliding in.

"Pony?" Soda called from the kitchen. "Where've you been?"

Pony thought fast.

"I just went out for a morning run. How was work?"

"It was ok. I'm gonna get a few hours of sleep before I have to work my shift at the DX. I'll catch up with you later."

"Night, Soda," Pony muttered.

They passed each other as Pony walked into the kitchen. He poured himself a bowl of cereal and stood leaning against the counter as he crunched on his frosted flakes. Somewhere in the house, a door opened, and a second later, Darry appeared in the door of the kitchen, dressed and ready to go for his job as a roofer.

"When you'd get in?" he asked. "I fell asleep before you got back."

"Just a little while ago," Pony shrugged, not finding a reason to lie to his eldest brother. "I gotta get ready for school. Take a shower. All that jazz."

He placed his bowl in the sink and walked out of the kitchen before Darry even had time to respond.

Three-quarters of an hour later, Pony found himself en route to school, walking at a brisk pace to get himself to school at the perfect time. Sure enough, he walked into the school just as the warning bell sounded. With two whole minutes to spare, he found himself in Mrs. Finnel's classroom, the room mostly occupied. With wide, excited eyes, he looked around for Cassie. And there she was, sitting in his usual spot.

"Saved your seat for you, Cowboy," she winked at him as she got up and sat at the desk to the left. She had touched up her curls and put some more lipstick on. No longer did she wear those old, beat up jeans. Now, she wore a pretty mauve skirt, an oxford shirt, and navy blue cardigan. And while her outfit made her look put-together, if Pony looked hard enough, he could see where the cardigan had been darned in the elbow and where the hem in the skirt had been let out as she had grown.

"What happened after you left the park this morning?" Pony asked hastily as he slid into his desk.

"Nothing," Cassie replied with a quick and jerky shake of her head. She said it coolly enough, but her eyes and the stiffening of her body told a different story. "I just went home and got ready for school."

"But what did your stepfather do to you?"

"Do to me? Why, nothing. He just told me not to do it again." She tried to shrug nonchalantly, but a second later, the tardy bell rang and the sound startled her so much that she jumped and started in her seat.

Mrs. Finnel walked in shortly afterwards, and the two had to pause their conversation to learn about King Leer and sentence structure and other things that seemed so minute to the own battles both teenagers were currently battling.


End file.
